A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab
by xCrimsonxBlackxBloodx
Summary: ... Well, it's sorta self explanatory isn't it? Filled with Dr Pepper, tomatoes, fake snakes, headache medicine... And complete and "udder" random-ness.
1. READ

**Author's Note: READ IT OR DIE!**

Okay, people, here's the deal: my CSI plot bunnies have been multiplying at superatonic (I don't think that's a word, but whatever...) speed this last little while, more or less since I first started writing my CSI story Holding a Grudge. The only problem is... I can't fit them into that story, and the plots are too minor to turn into a story of their own.

So, I decided to write these completely random - quite often funny - and plotless, stories to keep my plot bunnies mania, me, and you guys the readers happy as I battle with a particular stubborn bout of Writers Block.

I don't mind whether you guys review for these or not since these are for my entertainment almost more than they are for yours, but some feedback would be nice. Just remember, **if you don't like it, don't read it. I don't want to hear you complain about how plotless it is. **I know it's plotless, so be warned.

Also be warned for a few scenes with sexual tension in them - for now, it's only a few parts that have it, but I really don't know what I'll be adding. And, of course, knowing Deirdre (her character had expanded so much it's not even funny), there will also be quite a bit of swearing. All in all, it's rated the way it is for a reason.

Moving on, if you haven't read Holding a Grudge, don't worry, you don't have to. All the story bits that have characters from that story (meaning, of course, Deirdre) will be marked with a '1', so if you don't want to get confused, you can skip them or just read the other story.

Before you guys start skipping this, even though I told you not to, I haven't mentioned it yet but really have to, no one you notice is mine. I've tried to buy CSI a bunch of times, I've tried to wish on stars to get it, and even tried to just kidnap Jerry Bruckheimer and Co. to make them give CSI to me, but none of it's worked so far. Have you ever noticed how hard it is for teenagers to get power in the world these days?

Long, I know, but thank you all for bearing through all this blathering and exercising much more patience than I have ever been known to have. I would also like to express my thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far in Holding a Grudge and apoloize for my brain deadedness (not a word again, I know), but I think I'm starting to get over it.

And now, finally, the story,

Many laughs,

**xCrimsonxBlackxBloodx**


	2. Happy Birthday Pranks

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: Happy Birthday Pranks**

Catherine, Nick, Warrick and Sara were all sitting silently in the break room, bold grins on their faces. After a week of planning and snickering in secret, Greg's birthday had arrived and their Happy Birthday prank was ready. Even better? Grissom didn't know about it, and they weren't planning on telling him until the last minute so he couldn't the mature stick-in-the-mud and ruin it for them.

"I haven't been able to look at him with a straight face this whole week," Sara said suddenly, shaking her head and trying to stop giggling at the look she could imagine would be on Greg's face. "He kept asking me what was so funny."

"What did you tell him?" Nick asked curiously.

"That I was pregnant." The brunette's voice came out thick with suppressed laughing.

Catherine snorted with laughter and nearly choked on her coffee. It was true that she was supposed to be working - and that it was Nick's and Warrick's night off - but it was impossible to concentrate when something this funny was going to be happening so soon. Besides, Warrick and Nick were the one's with the idea to pull a prank on Greg for his thirtieth birthday and what to do.

Sara's pager chose that time to begin to beep. "It's Brass," she told the others. " Our 'suspect's' at the station, so I'd better go find our victim... I mean, Greg."

Everyone forced the smiles off their face and left to get in position. It took Sara only seconds to find who she was looking for.

"I just got a call from Brass," Greg told her. "He said they just brought our suspect in."

She nodded, her face with only the slightest smile on it. " I just got the same call. If you beat me to the parking lot, I'll let you drive."

A grin spread across Greg's own face. "Gotcha," he said, already beginning to walk away. He would 'bump into' Nick, she knew, to make sure that Greg wouldn't be able to find out about the prank if Grissom was somehow able to slip through Catherine's and Warrick's clutches and warn the youngest CSI once he had been informed.

She let Greg beat her to the dark blue Denali waiting for them in front of the Crime Lab, and so she had to endure his triumphant nattering all the way to the station. He only stopped once to ask her why she was so quiet while glancing down to her stomach before bringing his eyes back on the road. She replied that she felt a bit nauseous, but was fine. Such an easy excuse.

Brass met them outside the interrogation room with a fake-grim look on his face. " Rani Hashid, age 28. She's the one who as phoning your vic so much."

"Why is she in the interrogation room, then?" Greg asked, a curious but slightly surprised look on his face. "If she just phoned him a bunch of time, why isn't she in the waiting room?"

Brass glanced at the grey door beside him and shrugged." I sent two uniforms to check the perimeter of her house when we went to talk to her. They caught her trying to sneak out her back door, so I figure she's got something to hide - Sara, are you okay?"

Sara had suddenly doubled over slightly, putting one hand on her stomach and the other on her mouth, hoping that her acting skills were good enough to convince Greg that she was about to be sick. "Do you think you can do this on your own, Greg?" She muttered through her fingers.

Greg nodded, his eyes full of concern.

"Great," she whispered, and dashed off in the directions of the washrooms.

The two men watched her go, one worried, the other knowing full well what was going on.

"Well, let's go have a chat with Miss Hashid, shall we?" The police captain said finally, opening the door and motioning for Greg to enter, which he did.

Greg soon discovered that Rani Hashid was an extremely attractive woman, and she knew it. Her black hair had a few streaks in it, which accented her face wonderfully, and her equally dark eyes, perfectly symmetrical, were watching him with a look he couldn't quite place. She obviously took care of her olive shaded skin, since it was completely flawless.

Already feeling uncomfortable, he sat down across from her and placed the file he was carrying on the table. He could hear Brass relaxing against the wall behind him.

It was at this time when the police captain's cell phone rang, causing it's owner to sigh and check the call display. There was a look of surprise on his face as he answered.

Greg ignored this and began the interrogation. "Miss Hashid, do you know a man by the name of Malcolm Stanton?"

She shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, but I've never heard of him in my life."

He was about to ask his next question when Brass hung up his phone and interrupted quietly. "I'm got to go; something urgent just came up," he muttered into the young CSI's ear. "You think you can deal with this yourself?"

Greg nodded and continued as the older man left. "That's odd, because you phoned him a dozen time last week." He pulled out her phone records, which he and Sara had gotten a warrant for a few days ago. "And then, suddenly, you decide to stop phoning him (he pointed out the last highlighted line on he sheet), the day after he died."

She considered him for a moment, allowing him to prepare himself for the verbal attack that almost always followed a suspect's pause. To his surprise, though, she didn't hiss threats at him, but said "you shouldn't be a CSI."

He was taken aback by the comment. "Why's that?" He asked before he could stop himself, and cursed silently when the words escaped his mouth.

She gave him a rather flirtatious smile. "You're far too cute to be running around, poking at dead bodies." Letting out a slight chuckle, she slid off her chair and, licking her lips, neared him.

"Would you mind sitting back down?" Greg asked as politely as he could, feeling extremely uncomfortable - not to mention wondering what Sara or Brass would do and say if they came in and saw this.

To his great relief, Rani obeyed. She sat back down on her chair and pulled off her jacket, claiming that she was becoming too warm. Revealed when she took the jacket off, though, was a rather tight, black tank top.

Whose right strap she promptly began to play with.

"Umm... About the phone records..." He began, looking at the file and said records instead of at the pleasing woman who was trying to seduce him.

She shrugged a shoulder. "My friends might have used my phone without me knowing; they're in and out of my apartment all the time."

Greg nodded, still not looking at her. "I'll need the names of all your friends who have access to your apartment, then."

"Okay." She leaned against the metal table between them, licking her lips again, tilting her head so that her eyes shined brightly...

Enough was enough.

Greg grabbed his completely silent, non-vibrating phone out of his pocket and looked down at the blank screen. "Oh, look, Mia has my results. Sorry, I'd better go get them..." As quickly as he could without looking like a complete idiot, Greg hurried out of the interrogation room.

The night shift CSIs and Brass were outside the room, watching him through the one-way mirror with grins on their faces that clearly told him that the whole thing had been a set up. He starred at them for a few seconds, completely nonplussed, before a snickering Warrick said "happy birthday, man."

"That wasn't funny!" He cried out, finally having returned to his senses. The grins of those around him only broadened.

"You're right," Nick told, wiping a tear of laughter out of his eye. "That was hilarious."

"And we got it all on tape," Catherine added.

**Pointless? Oh yeah. Plotless? Oh yeah. Stupid? Oh yeah. Did I have a fun time writing this? You'd better believe it! Hope this starts to make up for my Writer's Block! And lucky for everyone I have a lot of these written out as manuscripts already.**

**Now, if you'll excuse me, I must plan more ways how to completely humiliate various CSIs...**

**Hee hee...**

**xCxBxBx**


	3. 1 You Know You Love Me Type 1

First thing's first; this is for my friend, who is currently somewhere in the southern hemisphere and whom I pity because of the too long plane ride. She's the one who gave me the base-line idea for this … written thingy.

Laura, _don't eat the Kiwis! _

Hee hee… like my pun?

Ladon

And now…

**A Random Day At The Vegas Crime Lab: You Know You Love Me … Type One (1)**

Greg's headache persisted as the night wore on, which did nothing for his bad mood Deirdre was imposing on him as a result of her chipperness. He winced as the other tech spotted Sofia in the hallway and bust out her name, waving madly. At the sudden noise, a sharp pain screamed through his skull, something that the Tylenol Deirdre had given him some time ago didn't seem to help with.

To make things worse, it was a busy night, so two shifts of CSIs were here, all asking for results. Nick and Warrick didn't seem to understand the sentence 'I'll page you when I've gone them' and kept popping in and out of the DNA lab, badgering him each time he told them he didn't have their results, insisting that they were extremely important.

Of course they're important, he thought waspishly as Sofia rounded the corner that blocked her from sight. This is a crime lab, isn't it?

"Greg, if you still have that headache," Deirdre told him as she processed one of Catherine's many hair samples, "then take a break."

He glared at her, but this only made the pounding in his head worse. Deirdre, though, didn't seem to notice as she went on. "Maybe you have low blood sugar or are dehydrated or something if it's not gone."

"Yeah, maybe," he muttered in reply, stripping off his latex gloves and lab coat. The break room would be quiet, right?

To his luck, the break room was just that. He grabbed his water bottle from the fridge, being tired but not wanting coffee at the moment, and collapsed into a chair. He pressed the bottle onto his forehead and a mild form of relief came to him as the cold water soothed his head.

His relief was short lived, though, as Deirdre had decided to find him and keep him company. "I just want to see how the poor little Greggy-Weggy's doing," she cooed into his ear as she gave him a hug from behind.

"Deirdre?" Greg grumbled, getting out of the chair to get away from her embrace. "Shut up."

"Oh…" she stepped around the chair and forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her hips against his. Her voice was seductive but amused as she began the chant Greg knew only too well. "You know you _looooove _me… You want to _huuuuug _me…"

"Deirdre? I'm really not in the mood."

"You want to _kiiiiiiiiiss _me…"

"Okay, got it."

"You want to _maaaaarry _me…"

"Can you shut up now?"

"And let me have you _baaaaaby_…"

"You know what?" He said quickly, before she could interrupt again. He stepped away from her and her arms dropped from his neck. "That's great, now go work."

A grin spread across her face as she glanced over his shoulder, but she said 'okay' and skipped away. Turning around, he saw what she was grinning about.

Nick and Sara were walking passed the break room, obviously trying - and failing - to keep strait faces as they did so.

He should've known that they would put Deirdre up to that. She would do anything for one more can of Dr. Pepper.

…

**And there you have it folks! It's a lot shorter than the other one, I know, but you just have to wait a not very long time (I don't really know how long) before we all get to see how Deirdre reacts under similar circumstances!**

**I'll just say it like this: don't piss off half insane DNA techs from Oregon. **

**You'll see… **

**(maniacal laughter)**

**xCxBxBx**


	4. 1 You Know You Love Me Type 2

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: You Know You Love Me… Type Two (1)**

Deirdre had no tolerance for people who didn't listen to instructions the first time around and the rest of the crime lab knew that. It was an extremely busy night, though, and the dull, aching cramps that were torturing the DNA tech showed no signs of easing up. Greg's happy-happy, joy-joy attitude only made her own mood worse, and, to finalize things, the CSIs were completely disregarding her "DON'T BLOODLY WELL ASK ME FOR YOUR RESULTS EVERY FIVE FRIKKIN' MINUTES" rule. And, of course, someone had gotten into her emergency supply of Dr. Pepper.

Finally, the small amount of patience she possessed evaporated and she blew up at Greg, who was singing - or rather, yelling - along with his latest Marilyn Manson CD.

"Will you turn that bloody squawking down?" She snapped, slamming her finger down on the mouse button.

"What's up?" The other tech muttered as he obeyed, his face with a somewhat surprised and annoyed look on it.

Deirdre knew she would have to eventually apologise for her slight on Marilyn Manson , but didn't really care at the time. "When you have cramps growing out of your ears," she growled, "then you can look at me like that. Until - don't even think it, pal." Her threat was directed towards Nick, who was walking into the DNA lab, about to ask if they had his results yet. The Texan suddenly realised that he had somewhere else to be and left.

Greg opened his mouth to speak again, but Deirdre interrupted him, too. "Say one more word and I will hurt you."

He smirked. "No you won't."

"Trust me, I will. I will because I hate and you piss me off. A lot. I will because I abhor you. If you open your mouth one more time, I will slaughter you like a pig."

"As, c'mon, Dee. You know you _looooove _-"

"Shut up."

"… Me. You want to -"

"I'm warning you, Sanders."

"… _Huuuuuuug_ me. You - "

Deirdre grabbed a test tube. "If you don't shut up, I will shove if test tube up your nose."

"… Want to _kiiiiiiiiss _me - "

"Or somewhere else, I haven't quite decided yet!"

"… You want to -"

"This is your last warning, Sanders!"

"… _Maaaaaaarry _me. And have my -"

"THAT'S IT!" Deirdre lunged forward, test tube in hand, intent on shoving the object up Greg's nose. Before she could succeed, though, he caught her by the wrists and gently but firmly prised the glass tube from her hand. To incest her even more, his smirk was now a full-fledged grin.

"Calm down," he told her in a bossy, father-like way. "And do your work."

She obeyed, only to execute another attempt to get that damn test tube up his nose not two minutes later. He stopped her once again, the grin on his face now a chuckle. This time, he didn't order her back to work.

Holding her arms to her sides, Greg marched her into Grissom's office and sat her down on the couch.

"Do you mind watching her and keeping her from doing anything rash?" He asked the shift supervisor, who was sitting at his desk, case papers spread out and watching the techs curiously,

"What kind of 'rash' things?" The older man questioned.

Greg shrugged. "Oh, you know: running out of your office, yelling profanities and threatening to stick a test tube up my nose."

Grissom looked mildly surprised. "I didn't know it was possible for you two to annoy each other."

"Oh, believe me, it's possible." Deirdre muttered with a glare over her shoulder at Greg.

Obviously unable to keep a slight smile off his face, Grissom nodded to the other tech. "I'll find her back when she's calmed down a bit."

Deirdre returned a half an hour later, glowering. "I'll get my revenge, you know," she warned, waving a finger in Greg's direction.

"I would be a lot more worried if you came back and didn't say that," he replied, smiling brightly.

…

That Friday, Warrick entered the men's washroom to find Greg leaning against a sink, holding a wad of toilet paper to his nose.

"What d'you do to annoy Deirdre?" He asked, surprised and curious.

…

**Which begs the question; what did Warrick do to make Deirdre threaten to shove a test tube up _his_ nose? (sighs) I'm having way too much fun with this, aren't I?**

**Oh well. At least we've all learned a lesson: never annoy Deirdre; she's insane and rather violent.**

**Hoped you liked it,**

**I sure do,**

**xCxBxBx**

**PS. No, really, am I having too much fun with this? Hee hee... **


	5. Why They Never Show Slow Days

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: Why They Never Show Slows Days On CSI**

It was a slow day at the crime lab, which was a good thing, but extremely boring for the people who worked there. Greg was re-organizing his locker for the forth time that shift, and Warrick and Archie were still going on with the pointless conversation they had used to beat Sara and Nick. Earlier, the four had had a competition to see who could hold a conversation the longest; Sara and Nick were beginning to wonder whether or not the other two even knew the had won. Grissom and Catherine were finishing up on Grissom's murder case, leaving all the younger CSIs to die of boredom. They didn't know it yet, but this was a mistake.

All topics of conversation having already been exhausted, Nick and Sara sat silently in the break room, both clutching a, mug of Greg's famous Blue Hawaiian coffee, making a feeble jab at conversation from time to time.

Sara spoke up again. "I spy with my little eye something that is brown."

Nick gave her a look, but still guessed. "You hair."

"No."

"The coffee."

"No."

"Your sandwich." He nodded to the whole-grain sandwich on the coffee table beside them.

"No."

"My hair."

"No."

"The paper bag."

"No."

"That broom in the corner."

"No." It was obvious Sara was having fun.

"My eyes."

"No."

"Your eyes."

"No."

"Your shoes."

"No."

Greg was walking by. "Greg's shirt."

"No."

"_His_ hair?"

"No."

"I know, it's Warrick!"

Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't see Warrick."

"So?"

"The game's called 'I Spy', Nick. I don't see Warrick, so I can't pick him."

Nick glared. "Your coffee mug."

"Give up, Nick."

"The floor."

"The floor's black."

He smirked. "There's dirt on the floor and the dirt's brown."

"Then why don't you just say 'the dirt on the floor'?"

"Fine. 'The dirt on the floor'."

"No."

"Your shoelaces."

"No."

"That stray piece of string on Nick's shirt." Apparently, Greg had finished re-organizing his locker again. He poured himself some coffee and sat across from the other two.

"Yes," Sara told him with a rather impish grin growing on her face.

The grin was matched by Greg's own. "By the way, who put the rubber snake in my locker?"

"It took you that long to find it?" The Texan asked after a seconds silence during which he pulled off the above mentioned peice of string. "Me 'n Warrick set that thing up to jump out of your locker for your last birthday."

"So _that's_ why Mr Snakey had a sting tied around his neck."

Sara's eyebrows shot up with a snort a laughter. "Mr Snakey?"

"What can I say; I'm bored," the former DNA tech said with a shrug.

"Obviously…" The words had barely left Sara's mouth before Greg spoke again.

"I have an idea!"

…

When a triumphant Catherine and Grissom returned to the crime lab, the lab's halls were deserted. Deserted, but loud. Marilyn Manson was being played over the building's intercoms so louder that the two CSIs wondered why they didn't dear the noise from outside.

It didn't take them very long to find everyone; they were all in the same room. Grissom's office was full of beer, coffee, people and pizza; balloons and streamers decorated walls, doors, his desk and various pickled animals; plastic bugs were placed randomly about the room.

"Hey, Cath! Grissom!" Sara called out, a can of beer in one hand and a grin on her face. Was she a bit drunk? "Come join the party!"

She waved them both inside and shoved a paper party crown on Grissom's head.

Unable to keep a mildly worried and confused look off his face, his gaze followed the brunette as she walked away and laughed a little too loudly at a joke Nick had just finished telling. Taking off the paper crown, he found Greg sitting in his chair with his feet propped up against his desk. The grin on the youngest CSI's was thankfully a sober one, though he, like Sara, had a can of beer in one hand.

Greg's grin faltered a bit when he saw the shift supervisor, but then it came back full force. He got up and immediately shook Grissom's hand.

"We're celebrating yet another successful case closed as a result of your investagative expertise," he said smartly. It was obvious tha he had been thinking about what to say if they got caught.

"Greg," he asked, voice calm, once the younger man had dropped his hand. "Who started this?"

"It was Nick." Greg's answer was so perfect that Grissom nearly believed him.

Unfortunately for him, the above-mentioned Texan heard this and shouted 'it was your idea!' to clarify any possible confusion about who had indeed started the party.

Grissom gave Greg a look.

"We were bored!" The younger man said loudly as an explanation. "You can't just leave us with absolutely nothing to do and expect the lab to be in one piece when you get back!"

The supervisor sighed, but didn't say anything, and grabbed a beer. After all, the arguments that would potentially arise from this would all be pointless and if you couldn't beat them, join them.

…

Two weeks after that night, the party was done - but by no means forgotten. It was something that was on everyone's mind during each slow night that persued the night that triggered the party, even if another party couldn't be started because of Ecklie's return from his business trip. The entire lab had to admit that it was a miracle that the assistant director hadn't heard of it yet.

And so, all the CSIs were seated in the break room, rotting of boredom and wishing that Ecklie hadn't returned. They were all aware that the lack of work was in all a good thing, but it didn't keep them from getting bored.

Everyone was watching Greg, who had decided that the break room would look funnier upside down and was sitting upside down in his chair as a result, when Grissom entered. The supervisor had a jar in one had that, upon inspection, had not yet another of his various pickled animals, but a plastic snake. He looked a Greg for a few moments and, obviously deciding not to comment about it, shook his head before opening his mouth.

He had yet to speak when Greg noticed the snake in the jar. "Mr Snakey!" He burst out, swinging his legs around so that he was sitting the right way. He stood up and waved a finger at the fake snake. "Where have you been?"

It wasn't until after he fished the toy out of the glass jar that he looked up and saw the look on Grissom's face. "It was Nick." He explained, perhaps a little too quickly, a finger pointed in a accusitory manner at the Texan.

**Trust me, people do some stupid things when they're bored. You just don't want to know what type of stupid things that I've done... **

**Yeah, sorry for the wait. PLEASE FORGIVE ME AND MY INCOMPITENCE AS A RELIABLE WRITER! (hee hee, do I remind you of anyone, Laura?)**

**Anyway, don't eat chicken crackers,**

**Cheers,**

**xCxBxBx**


	6. Nick the Bloody Texan

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: Nick the 'Bloody' Texan**

Ahh, there she was...

He could see her, sitting in a black leather chair, looking over the folder in her hands, occasionally sipping the mug of coffee at her right...

She, though, didn't see him...

The hall he was standing in was empty and silent, except for the occasional lab tech walking by. They weren't paying attention to them, though, but why would they? They considered him as a friend, a co-worker, after all. But they didn't know the evil plan in his mind. A plan that could so easily take place here just because he was the last person they would expect...

She shifted in her chair. He hid himself against the wall, then sighed at his jumpiness. Of course, he had paged her and told her he would be meeting her there in a couple minutes. It wouldn't be any fun if he took her _completely _by surprise...

She settled down again...

He took a deep breath and clamed himself, slowing his quickly beating heart. To anyone who would actually bother looking twice at him, they would see how he now watched his prey with the patience of a born killer, deadly still, deadly silent. It was almost time to strike, to swoop down on his prey and claim his prize.

A shiver of excitment ran down his body... He would finally prove to Greg that Sara could be startled! He would win this bet!

Checking that she was truly mesmerized in the case file, he quietly crept into the break room and positioned himself behind her chair. Oblivious to the danger behind her, Sara took another sip of coffee...

As soon as she put the mug back down, he striked.

"BOO!" He shouted loudly, grabbing the brunette by the shoulders.

Surprised, she jumped violently, spinning around to see who the hell it was. Her flailing right arm missed her coffee mug by centimeters, but hit another, larger target.

Nick's face.

The Texan let out a yell of pain as her fist connected with his nose, forcefully enough that he wouldn't have been surprised if it broke. Leaping back to protect himself from further assault, he covered his now swelling, bleeding nose, tears beginning to stream down his face from the irritation to his tear ducts.

"Nick!" She cried loudly, in annoyance and surprise. "What the hell was that for!?"

"What the hell yourself!" The Texan yelled in reply, voice muffled from his hands and stuffy sounding as a result of the dripping blood.

"It's your own fault for sneaking up on me like that!" Oh yeah, the brunette was definitely mad now... Apparently, she didn't like being startled like that.

"You broke my nose!" He shouted back at her, not caring to hear that it was 'his fault'.

"Oh, it's not broken, you wimp," she snapped angerly, pulling his hands away from his face and examining the mess she had caused. "But if you do that one more time, I swear I _will _break it."

And, as she walked away, he didn't doubt it. It took nearly ten minutes to stop the stream of blood, and the decision to avoid Sara and instead collect his winnings from Greg.

The tech handed him the money without him even having to speak - apparently, Greg had heard the commotion he and Sara had caused down the hall from the DNA lab. The look on the younger mans face when he also handed him an obviously burnt DVD, though, was one he found rather daunting.

As it was, though, he watched the disk that night against his better judgement, finding out exactly why the tech had said what he had said when giving it to him: "Revenge for my birthday prank. Ha."

**A/N: Yeah, I know, I cannot be relied on at all... Whatever, I had more important things to do - I still have more important things to do.**

**I'm just procrastinating right now... (Don't tell my teachers)**

**I also know it's short, but you know what? **

**I don't really know what I was saying there, I just felt like saying it.**

**Anyhoo, people still like me 'cause I'm still getting reviews. Just don't forget to drop me a line this time - and if you have any ideas I would love you if you wanted to tell me - it's not that I don't have ideas, it's just that they all involve the prequel to 'Holding a Grudge' and you can see where the problem comes in there...**

**(Yes, I 'm still planning on working on it - can you believe I fninshed Grudge more than a year ago? Wow!)**

**I was also asked what chicken -crackers are and the answer is...**

**I don't know! **

**xCxBxBx**

**Just don't eat them anyway. )**


	7. 1 Tomatoes are Made to be Thrown

_Dedication to Stormchilde, who is best the best beta I've ever had. Feel the love!_

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: 'Tomatoes are Made to be Thrown, not Eaten' (1)**

Deirdre Sanders had a motto: 'Tomatoes are mad to be thrown, not eaten.'

She took this motto very seriously; no one, not even her new husband (who loved tomatoes), could convince her to ingest the blobby, red fruit-vegetables. Tomato paste, she could deal with, since it is only used as an ingredient; ketchup went wonderfully with hotdogs and French fries…

Tomatoes themselves, though, will always be made to be thrown, not eaten.

Unfortunately, the employees at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, though successful in their chosen fields, seemed to be ridiculously forgetful - and this included her husband. First, it was her "DON'T BLOODY-WELL ASK ME FOR YOUR RESULTS EVERY FIVE FRIKKIN' MINUTES" rule that drifted from their minds, then it was her constant threats and warnings not to touch her emergency supply of Dr Pepper. When her motto and extremely vocal protests against the Evil Fruit-Vegetable of Doom were forgotten, though…

She shuttered at the memory. The action did not go unnoticed by Greg, though, who was working on some hair samples nearby.

"You okay?" His voice was somewhat hesitant, and he glanced up from his work. He knew the answer; this was something that they were both aware of.

Briefly, she was happily reminded that the man she had married was not as blind to emotion as the rest of his species were. However, she still frowned and glared when she turned to face him. "No, Gregory, I am _not _'okay'."

A sigh. "Dee, be serious. It was just a tomato -"

'Just a tomato?' Oh, no he didn't…

Her glare strengthened, as did her voice. "It's not 'just a tomato' and this is no small matter! I'm allergic to the damn things!"

He snorted in poorly suppressed laughter - or disdain, she could not quite tell. "You're not allergic, you just don't like -"

"If I'm not allergic, then why am I unable to breathe after I eat them!"

"Because you hold your breath so that you don't have to taste them. If this is really such a problem, you could've just asked the waiter -"

"Don't tell me what I _could've_ done!"

"And I picked them off for you, anyway, so you really didn't even have to eat them -"

"I COULD STILL _TASTE _THEM!"

There was a moment if silence during which he simply stared at her. His pale face and dark-rimmed eyes reminded her of the many double shifts he had been working, with lab work above that to help her, so that she would not fall behind in the mess of crimes that had gripped the city. Beginning to feel stupid, she recalled that he had been the one to suggest they go out for a late dinner at a restaurant before their shift started, since work had begun to impede on the time they were able to spend together…

Suddenly, she felt incredibly stupid.

Swallowing her pride was something Deirdre often found to be difficult, but she had already opened her mouth to apologize before even realizing what her intentions were.

He, though, was already speaking, in a weary and exhausted voice that she truly hated to hear from him. "Honestly, Deirdre, they're only tomatoes."

Her own voice somehow got lost in her throat as he silently walked out of the DNA lab.

* * *

They did not drive home together that morning; he simply insisted that he had far too much work left to do. So, Deirdre left the keys to their car with him and took a taxi back to their condominium.

When he would finally make his own way back home, almost trembling with exhaustion but ready to make amends with his wife, he would find her already asleep in the master bedroom, snoring lightly and obviously comfortable in one of his shirts.

He would also find a plastic container filled with red cherry tomatoes, waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

Deirdre Sanders had a new motto: 'Whenever possible, tomatoes are made to be thrown, not eaten.' This new motto strangely made things much easier between herself and her tomato-loving husband.

* * *

**  
You know what? My original plan was to involve lots of laughing on Greg and Deirdre's part, and then some tomato throwing. And then I ended up with… This. I'm not even sure how much I like it.**

**Isn't it strange how you just sort of lose control of your hand sometimes?**

**Ah well, watch for the evil master-mind chickens! They're coming to rule the world!**

**xCxBxBx**


	8. I Got

_A thanks to death-on-arrival, who poked my CSI plot bunnies out of hibernation a little._

_And, yes, this is based on a true story - my own._

**A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: I Got…**

It was a well known fact that Gregory Sanders was going to spend two weeks on the Big Island of Hawaii. It was also common knowledge that he was leaving to go to the tropical island right after his shift ended tonight. And it was only a comatose man who could not tell that the youngest CSI was ecstatic about the event.

Throughout the entire week, his co-workers had had to endure the incessant explanations about where he was going, what he had planned to do and what he was going to see.

"I got a picture that my mom gave me when she and my dad went there," he told Grissom early in their shift on Monday, while they were processing a car. "They had hiked down to see to lava flow into the sea on the island's south side."

He was going to go Scuba Diving on the island's west side twice during the trip, then a third time at night so that he could see the enormous creatures called 'Manta Rays'; he was going to go to Hilo and see if it was as rainy as everyone said it was; he was going to go to the Volcano National Park and walk through calderas and lava tubes; he, like his parents, was going hike down to see the lava flows; he was going to go up both Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa just to say that he had been on two of the world's tallest mountains (1); he was going to go on a helicopter tour so that he could go around the entire island in under three hours and, above that…

"I got green sand of all things when a friend went there a few years ago," he said to Warrick, completely oblivious to the fact that he might as well have been conversing with the lockers around him. "So I want to hike down there and get some sand (2) and take a few pictures."

Then, of course, he wanted to go to the Farmer's Market in Kona because, apparently, there were some really interesting things for sale there, and a "Place of Refuge"(3), which was sacred to ancient Hawaiians. One evening, though, he made the decision that he _had _to see a Lu'au (4).

"Because I got a video of a part of a Lu'au," he explained to a glassy-eyes Sara as they went through the tedious task of cataloguing evidence. "They have fire dancers at some of them and it's amazing what they can do…"

And so, the whole Crime Lab punctuated the air with a collective sigh of relief as the sun rose over Las Vegas and Greg, grinning madly, clocked out and meandered to his car. He waved madly as he drove past them – which they returned only half-heartedly – and began making his was to McCarren International Airport.

* * *

The following week at the Vegas Crime Lab was blessedly quiet. The nightshift staff would quite often receive random text messages from their absent colleague, though, such as the "I got lei'd!!" text that Nick received two days after Greg had departed, or Catherine's find, which stated "I got to see a SHARK!!"

At one point during the first week of the young CSI's absence, Archie received an e-mail with thirty pictures attached, revealing several species of tropical fish, half a dozen of a shark, a few more of some rather attractive hula dancers and some more of slowly flowing lava. The e-mail proper was addressed to everyone at the lab, promising macadamia nuts or coconuts or leis – or all three – as souvenirs for "the unfortunate souls left behind".

The last they heard from Greg was through a text message to Warrick that exclaimed "I got to see some lava!!"

Then, all messages stopped without warning and he seemed to fall off the face of the Earth.

* * *

Finally, the day came – Greg was due back at the Crime Lab for his first shift in two weeks. While not exactly worried, many of his co-workers were curious as to why he had stopped contacting them so abruptly and, as a result, where waiting for him in the locker room.

There was much joking about how many of Greg's sentences would begin with "I got…". All went suddenly quiet, though, as the subject of their conversations entered the room.

Wearing long sleeves and pants, but still unable to hide the fact that he was lobster red from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, the young CSI glared at aoo of them as though challenging them to comment on his appearance.

"What?" He finally grumbled, as they continued to stare. "I got a sunburn."

* * *

**Footnotes:**

**(1) Both mountains (actually, volcanoes) are about 14 000 feet tall above sea level, but extend over 18 000 feet below sea level. Measuring about 32 000 feet, they are actually the world's two tallest mountains, with Everest coming in third.**

**(2) It's really a black sand beach with particles of a semi-precious stone called olivine it in (long story how it got there). It's actually illegal to take the stuff, if I'm not mistaken.**

**(3) The Place of Refuge on the Big Island is known as "Pu'uhonua o Honaunau". Those who broke the ancient laws ("Kapu") were sentenced to death but, if they could make it to a Place of Refuge, they could take part in rituals and be forgiven by the god - and the other Hawaiians.**

**(4) Elaborate Hawaiian feast with hula dancers, singers, ukuleles and fire dancers as entertainment. Still done often for the amusement of tourists.**

**Final note: If you get a sunburn, and you don't want it to get worse (because, when I was there, it slowly got worse as the day wore on, even when I was inside), take a lukewarm-ish shower as soon as you realize you got on and put on aloe on it. Ice feels good, too.**

**In Hawaii (or any tropical place), use at least SPF 25 sunscreen if you're not used to the sun, and SPF 15 even if you are.**

**Cheers!**

**xCxBxBx**


End file.
